


Baptism

by Allieo_lialeo



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Harry Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Lots and lots of guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allieo_lialeo/pseuds/Allieo_lialeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mission ends in blood, Eggsy tries to wash his sins away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baptism

**Author's Note:**

> This can sort of maybe be seen as a continuation of "One-Sided Conversation," but can also totally stand on its own. Enjoy!

“It’s good to see you eating, Harry,” Merlin said, glancing down at his clipboard, then taking a moment to adjust his glasses before looking up at his long-time friend. Harry was sitting up, supporting himself, fixing a reserved scowl on his lunch as if it were particularly distasteful. It probably was—Harry wasn’t quite ready for full meals, or solid foods. The mush was highly nutritional, to help him regain some of the weight he’d dropped, but it was still _mush_. 

“Yes, well,” Harry replied, reluctantly gathering more of the mush onto his spoon. “It seems my body has finally decided to stop regurgitating everything I attempt to ingest.” He pushed the spoon into his mouth, eyes tightening at the edges in displeasure, making his crow’s feet more prominent. The hair growing back in at his temples after being shaved for several surgeries was flecked with more gray and white than ever before.

“That’s a good sign,” Merlin said. “Try not to look so glum. You’ve only been awake for two weeks. You’re healing remarkably well for someone who took a bullet to the head.”

At that, Harry paused. He looked suddenly haunted. Merlin had seen that look far too often since Harry had regained consciousness. It meant he was thinking about Kentucky, about the church, about Valentine’s device and all of the people he’d killed. It was the only sign that he ever thought about it at all—other than the nights Eggsy told him about, the ones when Harry woke shouting and shaking and gasping for air. Merlin had long since stopped trying to throw Eggsy out in the evenings. He was glad Harry wasn’t alone on _those_ nights.

“Merlin.” The voice wasn’t Harry’s—it was in his ear. Roxy.

“Lancelot,” he replied. “Status.”

“Mission complete, sir. We’re on our way back.”

“And Galahad?”

The decision to give Eggsy the codename Galahad had been based mainly on the assumption that Harry Hart would no longer be using it. The moment they’d found him alive, they’d slated him to become the new Arthur, pending his recovery. Other than that, Harry’s reasoning had been some nonsense about the ‘metaphorical weight’ of Eggsy inheriting his mentor’s codename.

“Galahad’s with me,” Roxy said. There was something wary in her tone that Merlin most decidedly did _not_ like.

“Status?” he pressed.

“He’s…fine.”

Merlin had never heard a more unconvincing lie in his life. “Lancelot,” he warned. “What’s Galahad’s status?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry sit up a bit straighter.

Roxy sighed. “The mission was completed successfully, but there was some…collateral damage. A civilian casualty. A, ah, a little girl. He’s not too pleased with himself.”

Merlin clenched his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You said he’s with you?”

“We’ve just arrived. He’s gone to his quarters. He won’t say a word to me.”

“You’ve done all you can, Lancelot. I’ll take over. Report for debrief at sixteen-hundred hours.” That gave him three and a half hours to figure out what was wrong with Eggsy, and hopefully to _fix_ it. Merlin didn’t like not being able to fix things.

“Where is he?” That _was_ Harry’s voice, and Merlin turned to find him staring, eyes sharp with concern. Merlin knew what was going to happen—Harry was going to insist on finding Eggsy, on comforting him, even though Harry was in no fit shape to be out of bed, having only started physical therapy a week ago. And Merlin—well, Merlin was going to let him.

“His quarters,” Merlin said. “Roxy says there was a civilian casualty. A little girl.”

———————-

_He should have seen it. He wasn’t quick enough. He’d_ missed _it. He’d missed it, and now there was a mother out there, a father out there—a family who would be getting their little girl back in a body bag._

_They’d done it. Lancelot and Galahad had taken out a serial bomber that had been working his way across England since V-day, taking advantage of the chaos left behind after Valentine’s device had wreaked its havoc on the world. They’d tracked him to his latest target—a bank, in the middle of the day, with too much potential for civilian casualties. They’d disarmed the bomb, killed the bomber._

_“Well done, Rox!” Eggsy had said, because he just couldn’t get used to codenames. They felt too impersonal._

_“It was a simple bomb, Galahad,” she’d replied. “Honestly. It’s not all that impressive.”_

_Eggsy had just grinned. They’d cleared the bank of civilians, disarmed the bomb, killed the bad guy—saved the day. And then a little girl had run inside, no more than three years old. She’d crouched down, tiny hands finding a doll left behind on the floor. Eggsy hadn’t been able to stop himself from smiling at her, thinking of Daisy, thinking of her tiny hands and her dolls and her laugh and her pretty blond hair._

_And then he’d heard it. Beeping. It had started slow, at first, quiet, and then had grown louder and faster, faster, louder, and before he or Roxy could do anything about it, there had been an explosion. A second bomb, hidden beneath the floorboards, probably planted days or weeks prior._

_Eggsy had thrown himself at the little girl, trying to cover her, trying to save her, but he’d succeeded only in being covered with blood and smoke and gore._

_There had hardly been anything left of the little girl’s body._

———————-

Harry found Eggsy in the shower, pressed into a corner, fully clothed, hugging his legs to his chest. Water rained down on him—cold, Harry realized, when he reached in to check. Clothes stuck heavily to the young agent’s skin; he hadn’t even bothered to remove his suit jacket. The water that circled the drain was pink and brown, and bits of dirt and debris were caught in Eggsy’s hair.

“Eggsy?” Harry considered turning off the water, but didn’t. He knew what it was like to feel filthy, to feel like there was blood on his hands that would never wash off, no matter how hard he tried. Harry wouldn’t rob Eggsy of the chance to feel _clean_ again.

“She was just a little girl, Harry,” Eggsy muttered. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes and rolled down his cheeks whenever he blinked, making it impossible for Harry to tell whether or not he was crying. He suspected he was.

“It wasn’t your fault, Eggsy,” Harry assured. _And maybe the church wasn’t mine._

Eggsy’s breath hitched, a spasm running across his shoulders and down his arms. Yes, he was crying. “I fucking _missed_ it,” he croaked. He tucked his face against his knees, and the next words were muffled. “I could’ve saved her.”

“We all miss things,” Harry said. He removed his glasses and set them aside. This wasn’t a moment that a nosy Merlin needed to listen in on. “We can’t be perfect, Eggsy, and we can’t save everyone. It’s not possible. You’ll drive yourself mad if you blame yourself for this.”

Eggsy lifted his head, and Harry’s heart ached at the pain he saw behind the young man’s eyes. There were no words that could fix pain like that—only patience, only time.

Glad he was wearing casual clothes and not one of his bespoke Kingsman suits, Harry climbed into the shower. He pressed himself back against the wall and dropped an arm across Eggsy’s trembling shoulders. Immediately, Eggsy responded, shifting to hide his face against Harry’s shoulder and pressing himself closer and closer, until he was practically in his mentor’s lap. Harry could feel the sporadic puffs of Eggsy’s breaths against his throat.

“She was just a little girl, Harry,” Eggsy said again. “She looked like _Daisy_.”

The words were a punch to the gut. As far as Eggsy was concerned, he’d watched his little sister die, unable to save her. Harry pulled the newest Kingsman agent—in that moment, just a child—closer, dropping his head so that his cheek rested against Eggsy’s sopping hair. “Oh, Eggsy,” he sighed, and the child sobbed.

They were both shivering, the freezing water pouring down on them, still dragging bits of carnage from Eggsy’s hair and suit. From Harry, the water pulled the invisible blood of dozens of people, slaughtered in a church in Kentucky. He sat with Eggsy for a long while, watching their sins wash down the drain.


End file.
